


Last Kiss

by orphan_account



Series: Broken Glass Stars Universe [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Voldemort, Angst, Break Up, F/F, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 18:26:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16142954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: They were opposites, and clashed, and finally broken apart.





	Last Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this like a year ago so... eh... not great.
> 
> Trigger Warning: heavy hints of self-harm, dysfunctional relationships, drinking, emotional abuse
> 
> Grammarly Only

_Hermione_

It had been a long self-torturous week. There was guilt, anger, loneliness. Overall though, a need for sleep. Hermione was tired. It seems she was never rested enough. Her body was fine, but her mind was exhausted. Sleeping in one of the Weasley's empty rooms gave a certain comfort, but she missed waking up to Bellatrix looking like a peaceful gothic, seraphim composition.

But that was the problem. When Bellatrix wasn't sleeping, peace was vacant from their lives. Hermione knew Bellatrix didn't mean it, or at least not all of it. It was still exhausting having to deal with the breakdowns, mood swings, and excessive amounts of irritability.

So there she sat, in her best friend's living room drinking tea, and running away from her life. The Weasley’s had been quite understanding of her situation, if for the wrong reasons. They never liked Bellatrix. In truth, no one approved of her relationship with the woman. Comments always came about how they were afraid Bellatrix would get upset and murder her in her sleep, or how the dark which was just using her. In fact, those statements seemed farther than the truth. Bellatrix, by all means, was not stable, but she never was malicious towards Hermione, everyone else, however, was a different story entirely.

Then there were the comments on the age difference. Hermione was a woman of age, damned anyone else, though the little condescending voice in her head paraded along with all the judgments thrown her way.

The Weasleys still treated her well, if maybe in overdoses. Ron, in particular, kept pestering her if she was okay. It annoyed her to no end, but finally, she realized why. She was overwhelmed and had started to ignore her own needs.

Taking care of her girlfriend, if they were even still together anymore, had turned into more of a job than she expected. Hermione wanted to help, but it seemed nothing she did could.

Hermione’s voice suddenly broke the silence, even if it was just a whisper. “I'm not some equation that can be solved.”

Those were the last words Bellatrix said, or more so hoarsely yelled at her before she, Hermione, walked out of their house.

The way Bellatrix looked still haunted Hermione. She'd seen the raven-haired woman covered in blood, passed out, and so angry she broke and destroyed her own home, but the amount of broken soul that shone through those dark eyes was chilling.

  
Everything in that moment, she remembered, froze. Time stood still long enough to feel like an eternity went by. It was enough for Hermione to question everything.

Hermione sipped her tea trying to calm her shaking hands. Her mind played back the scene in her head over and over, trying to find a logical reason as she walked out on Bellatrix.

It wasn't the glossy pained eyes Bellatrix looked at her with, it wasn't the blood droplets, it wasn't the words said to her that made her walk out. She was just too tired. Hermione's mind settled on she was too tired to deal with the situation and she already said things that she regretted.

_“You need to tell me Bellatrix! Maybe I can help fix the issue! I can't help if you refuse to even talk to me!”_

_Bellatrix looked back her infuriated. Those dark eyes flickered between manic rage and pain. That's when Bellatrix spoke abnormally calm, but still raspy from the previous yelling,_

_“And you'll what? You'll stay quiet when you realize the issue is too big? That you can't fix the problem and then leave me to rot to my own mind. I’m not asking to be fixed! I’m asking for someone to lean on!”_

_Hermione stared back, blinking away tears. Her mind still said there was a solution to the issues, there had to be, but she pushed too far this time. Bellatrix obviously saw the cogs in her brain grind away and continued, this time yelling;_

_“I'm not some equation that can be solved!”_

The logical side of her was working overtime rationalizing, she needs to take care of herself too. She loved Bellatrix, but she couldn't keep up.

Then why did she feel so guilty for walking away? It was only for some desperately needed thinking space.

Maybe she felt so dreadful because she wasn't sure if she'd go back.

* * *

 

_Bellatrix_

A week and a half without a word from Hermione had pushed her over the edge farther than she had ever been. Bellatrix could handle spiteful words from her family, her ex-husband, herself, but the lack of any was worse.

No physical pain she’d ever encountered beat through her as terribly as this inexpressible gloom. Hermione walked out on her, and probably never to return.

Bellatrix laughed out loud at herself. It was pathetic how worked up she was. Her laugh turned dark and eventually ended on a dry cough. She was sitting sideways in a lounge chair drinking a healthy amount of firewhiskey while staring at the wall. She cackled maniacally at how she was stupid to expect any different. No one could handle her. She couldn't handle herself. It was foolish to let anyone in.

She took a gulp of the alcohol, letting it burn itself against her insides. Her mind felt fuzzy.

“Good. No more thoughts.” Her words slurred a bit after her fifth glass, but she didn't care. She felt numb to everything, and it was better that way.

The pesky ache in her chest was replaced with the blaze of alcohol making its way down her throat.

* * *

 

_Hermione_

She still had the key to the house, but the trepidation that Bellatrix used a blood ward to keep her out was there. She wasn't sure how Bellatrix would react to the whole situation, and the woman tended to be melodramatic.

Hermione fumbled putting the key in its lock. She turned it and sighed. The dark witch didn't lock her out after all.

She opened the door, and the wind escaped her lungs faster than she could refill them. The door opened to a wrecked hallway that lead to the living area. Char marks from spells clung to the walls like they belonged, followed with an underlying stench of ozone. A mirror that hung in the middle of the hall was tilted and cracked. The small end table they had in the corner that met the living area was splintered to pieces and on its side.

The connecting wall to the living area and kitchen stood in the way of assessing any more damage, but Hermione could see the bare pale legs that were thrown haphazardly over the arm of a chair peeking past the corner.

Hermione took a timid step towards her. There was Bellatrix passed out in an oversized black nightshirt, head lulled to the side hanging over the other arm, with a large empty glass in her hand. The witch’s hair was like spilled ink across her shoulders. It was tangled and stubbornly laid in every direction. Hermione purposely pretended she didn't see the little crimson fingerprints on the woman’s hands and wrists.

Bellatrix was already a small woman without heels, but she seemed incredibly miniature. Hermione’s vision closed off the rest of the world, all she saw was a damaged person lying still. Her heart fell into her stomach. From the distance she was, she couldn’t tell if the woman was breathing.

Suddenly logic began running in so many directions she couldn't keep up.

Bellatrix wouldn't commit suicide, would she?

Without hesitation, Hermione ran to the witch. She didn't bother to mind her stepping, if anything the noise might wake the woman, hopefully. It didn't.

Her chest, however, was moving with shallow breaths. Hermione swallowed her fear and internally yelled at herself for panicking so stupidly.

Bellatrix didn't look her peaceful self when she slept. Her face was scrunched in a pained position with a stroke of fear. Hermione recognized it as the sign of her fighting a nightmare.

She went to touch Bellatrix’s shoulder, no reaction. Hermione didn’t want to look at the older woman’s arms or thighs. She knew what would be there, and simply she didn't want to face the fact that some of those new scars would be because of her.

“Bella,” she whispered. Bellatrix twitched in the chair. Hermione decided to use a spell to levitate Bellatrix into bed. The woman sunk into the feather bed and looked less uncomfortable. Her facial features softened and relaxed. Hermione sat down on edge and brushed her fingertips against the dark hair that fell on Bellatrix’s face, moving them away.

She missed this bed. It was always the perfect softness. Hermione remembered how long Bellatrix fussed to make it ideal for her, as the dark witch couldn't care less. Tonight being proof the woman could fall asleep anywhere.

Besides, this bed was where nothing could hurt them. It was just the two of them. No blood status, no mental illness, no judgment mattered.

The memories stung her heart, but she had made up her mind.

Hermione gave a small smile before feeling the tugging of sleep. It was some ungodly hour in the morning, but she had to see Bellatrix if only to say goodbye.

Bellatrix tossed in her sleep before finding a position facing her. Peace finally took control of her visage.

There was the dark angel.

* * *

 

_Bellatrix_

The sudden feeling of safety washed over her. The nightmare tormenting her calmed itself. It took her all of her strength to push her eyes open. It was like she was looking through glasses she didn't need. The world around her was blurred, and a splitting headache didn't help her concentration.

Her eyes made trails around the room. She didn't remember falling asleep in her bedroom, and what was this weight she felt pulling at the edge? That's when she saw her.

Hermione sitting, looking exhausted, holding her hand. Bellatrix held her breath. This was just another nightmare her mind thought would be funny to play on her. She flexed her fingers just in case. The fingers interlocked with hers were indeed tangible.

Hermione moved her head and looked at her. The woman had large bags under her eyes from sleepless nights and looked like she hadn't had a proper meal for a few days. She looked terrible, but Bellatrix didn't care.

Even when hungover, Bellatrix had a firm grip, and she used it to pull Hermione down to her. She made sure to wrap her arms around the girl’s neck so there would be no escape. Even if Hermione didn't want her, she'd have to stare her down and admit it.

That didn't happen though. Yes, there was a sense of hesitation from Hermione, but the moment their lips were close enough Bellatrix could feel the girl’s breath on her, she kissed her brilliant little witch.

Hermione kissed her back.

The world melted away into a blank room, bubbling over with too many contradicting emotions: love, bliss, relief, guilt, fear, resentment, and even sorrow. It mirrored their fractured sphere of life they held together with cheap glue.

Hermione’s lips tasted like the same intoxicating apple, and they were so gentle. She missed how tender Hermione would be with her, the only person to be compassionate towards the mess of madness she was.

Bellatrix tried to convey her apologies, even when her inner voice nagged it wasn't her fault. Hermione seemed to be doing the same.

Why did her face feel wet suddenly?

Air was eventually needed, and they broke apart. Bellatrix examined the girl again. Hermione was the one crying, and she looked painfully sorrowful.

The dark witch took her forefinger and wiped the brunette’s tears away before pulling the girl down to lay next to her.

Hermione choked on her words. “I'm sorry.”

Bellatrix felt the bed shift as Hermione moved out of it.

So this is it, she thought. She was too buzzed to really make any sudden moves. Bellatrix, as numb as she was, felt the ache return.

It took moments for her to remove the covers and stand. The world wobbled as she walked to the hallway. She froze when her vision caught Hermione lingering in the living room.

As much as she wanted the girl to stay, Bellatrix was so tired of Hermione trying to be the intellectual problem solver and not the empathetic lover. It was over, and the fact she wouldn't leave stirred anger in the older witch.

“If you're going to leave, fucking do it already.”

Hermione looked like she was about to turn around and face her, but she didn't. She stood there with her back to Bellatrix. The dark witch followed the position of the girl’s gaze. Hermione was staring at a picture of them.

It was one of their early days together when Hermione was ignorant of how fractured Bellatrix really was.

She saw Hermione’s shoulders quake with withheld sobs.

That only aggravated the growing wound. Hermione was the one leaving, she shouldn't play being remorseful. Not after how their relationship consistently cracked. Both of them were at fault; however, the righteous way Hermione would act about their fights, and holding herself like she had less contributed stung deeper than anything else.

The dark witch ruptured.

“Get out!” Bellatrix yelled. A single tear spilled past her lashes, and she bit down her teeth so hard it made an audible clack. She wanted to grab her wand and do a plethora of cruel things to the witch before her, but even in this daze… Bellatrix couldn't bring herself to do it.

“Now,” she growled.

The girl winced at the harshness of her voice. Then Hermione’s feet kicked into action and carried her out of the quickly.

Bellatrix now stood alone and more isolated than she'd ever felt in her life. Quickly the air turned to ice, while the fiery passion in her chest dimmed.

“Love,” she spat. “Is worse than any torture.”


End file.
